Is there such a thing as coincidence anymore?

I think not. And here's two reasons why...

A couple weeks ago I went up to Boston to visit relatives and some friends from law school. While I was there I made plans to meet two other friends who live in Philadelphia but were in town for a medical conference - they're both doctors. The three of us met at a small restaurant in the south end and were seated near the open kitchen. Just after we ordered I glanced up at someone being led through the dinning room to their table - for those of you who follow my Facebook updates this might sound familiar - and immediately recognized it was a friend of mine from high-school who I haven't seen in probably a dozen years. The truly crazy thing was that she doesn't live in Boston either and was only in town for a couple days as well. She was there with her boyfriend and his sister, and the waitress sat them right next to us. We spent the rest of the evening chatting and catching up on old times. It was amazing.

Even more amazing was that her boyfriend said that he owned a wine store in northern Virginia and invited me to visit after I mentioned what my current plans are and that I would be in the area for a wedding in a few weeks. That wedding was this past weekend and the three of us meet for dinner on Monday night. Not only was it a great chance to catch up even more with her and get to know him better, but a potential business opportunity came out of the dinner that I am seriously considering.

I would have emailed her to let say I was going to be in DC anyway, but since we ran into each other in Boston it made getting together a certainty. Had we not reconnected in that random way, who knows if we would have met for dinner and who knows whether the business opportunity would have presented itself as it did. Most likely not. Things just seemed to fall into place in an odd, but positive, way.

The second thing happened last night when I went to a Learning Annex seminar about opening a restaurant. There were about a dozen people in attendance and just before the lecture began a man sitting in front of me mentioned to the presenter that he already owned a place in Park Slope. I told him I live in Park Slope and asked what the name of his restaurant was. His reply was "Cafe Bogota." I felt the blood rush from my head at this. When he asked if I knew it I said yes, stammered something about how the food was very good, but that my experience there was bad and I would talk to him about it later. Not only was the class starting so I couldn't explain it to him further, but I didn't want to cast a pall over him for the next couple hours.

At the conclusion of the class I approached him and spoke with him further. I began to explain that I was at Cafe Bogota in mid-November of last year with Karen and that she collapsed there. Before I could say anything further, he knew immediately who I was and what had happened. His partner, who joined the conversation at this time, explained that he was working there that day and recounted some of his memories. They told me how stunned and saddened the entire staff had been by what happened, and that the waiter who served us (who returned to Brazil) kept saying over and over in a shocked voice that Karen had just asked him for a pen.

The three of us spoke for a little while longer. I said that for some time I have wanted to go to the restaurant and speak with people who were there that day but have not been able to walk past Cafe Bogota let alone go inside. The understood completely, offered me their business cards and asked that I get in touch with them so we could meet to speak further. As the emotions began to overwhelm me, I shook both their hands and promised that we would get together. I left, getting to the street as the reality of what just happened hit me and the memories of November 16 flooded back.

As I did in the months that followed her death, I walked through the city trying once again to make sense of things. How could it be that in a city of over nine million people and thousands of restaurants the owners of Cafe Bogota were two of about a dozen individuals who showed up for the lecture. I believe we were supposed to meet, but that we were supposed to meet away from where Karen died so that I didn't have to reenter that place.

Just like I was supposed to be in that restaurant in Boston for many reasons, so too was I supposed be in that lecture; not to learn about how to open a restaurant (although I did get some good pieces of advices) but to meet those two gentlemen.

I don't know how my plans will eventually work out, but things have been happening to me in very odd ways during these past eleven and a half months. I wonder what is next....